


an ounce of performance

by venvephe



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Clothing Kink, Clothing Porn, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Mission Related, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Talked to Orgasm, Undercover as a Couple, Undressing, Voice Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 18:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6532117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry leans in, puts his warm hands on Eggsy’s hips again to steady himself. It feels only natural to loop his arms around Harry’s neck, to follow his lead and tilt his head to the side when Harry’s mouth inches towards his ear.</p><p>“Our suite has been bugged,” Harry says softly, only just audible over the rush of water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an ounce of performance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deepdarkwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/gifts).



> For Deepdarkwaters, for Smut Swap 2016. I was delighted to get matched with you, B, since so many of our kinks align - and I've tried to fit some of our favorites into this. It was quite a bit of fun to write; I hope you enjoy it!

_"An ounce of performance is worth pounds of promises." -_ Mae West

 

 

Venice at night is unlike any other city Eggsy has ever visited.

It’s not quite the tourist season - not yet, with the blush of spring a few weeks off still and the chill of the lagoon curling through the streets as the sun sets further in the sky. With the end of the day comes a particular stillness, a settled calm as schoolchildren return home, the fish-market long packed up and cobbled stone rinsed of the day’s affairs, the evening bells heralding the moonrise as the streetlights flicker to life one-by-one. There’s no honk and bustle of commuter traffic, or the swarming mass of people at the mouth of a Tube station. Shopkeepers lock up and music swells from the open doors of restaurants; the clatter of feet on stairs as Venetians walk home echoes in the narrow canals.

It’s different from London, but it’s not - bad. But maybe Eggsy’s just used to quiet being the _quiet before the storm,_ and even when it’s this - calm, settled, tranquil - he can’t quite let go of the feeling that something is about to happen.

He says as much to Harry as they walk, linked arm-in-arm on a leisurely stroll back to their hotel-cum-base-of-operations. It’s cool enough in March that Eggsy’s glad for the heat of Harry next to him, the warm radiating between their layers of suit-jackets and snug scarves.

Harry just raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk sliding onto his lips. “You’re just used to the bustle of London, darling,” he says airily - as airy as Harry Hart can be while acting the part of a posh, aloof British arms dealer - which is, unsurprisingly, quite a bit. “There’s nothing wrong with a little quiet, now and again.”

“I thought you liked loud,” Eggsy murmurs, tucking himself further into Harry’s side and quirking his eyebrows coyly. This is a little different, too - coming down from the adrenaline high of a mission pressed close, lingering in their assumed personalities even away from their objective. It never hurts to play up the cover - not when there’s the almost-silent click of heels tailing them, just out of sight behind the last corner they turned. And, well - he don’t _mind_ acting the part, with Harry. Gives him all the more reason to be staring at Harry’s legs - to be _caught_ staring at Harry’s legs.

But it _is_ dangerous, considering his growing feelings about - well.

Harry reaches up to cup Eggsy’s cheek with his free hand, humming thoughtfully when he runs his thumb over the plushness of Eggsy’s bottom lip and, true to character, Eggsy nips at the tip of his finger. It’s worth it to see Harry’s eyes darken in the low light, feel the twitch of his fingers on the underside of Eggsy’s chin.

It’s not - it’s not really for him, though. Harry _is_ be good enough for his reactions to be a part of the act, and even if it isn’t - it isn’t _Eggsy_ doing these things to _Harry._ It makes something hot and dark clench in his gut just the same.

“That I do,” Harry finally replies, swiping his finger once more across Eggsy’s mouth before letting it drop from his face; the sudden rush of cool air is a sharp coldness against Eggsy’s flushed skin, though Harry’s eyes linger a beat longer on his mouth. “And I hope you don’t mind indulging me tonight.”

“When do I ever _mind?”_ Eggsy chuckles, pitching his voice a little lower. He doesn’t have to fake the edge of roughness when his voice goes a little hoarse; two cocktails and an hour of socializing at the party has done that for him. There’s a glint of amusement in Harry’s eyes - he undoubtedly knows, he was there and bantering alongside Eggsy with the best of them - and Eggsy lets himself grin at the shared joke.

They end up taking the long way home, after the soirée. It was a lavish affair, as one can expect from a gathering of the underworld’s elite in a gilded palazzo on the Grand Canal. Maybe the streets seem all the quieter, Eggsy thinks, for how loud the party had been in comparison. Clinking glasses as champagne was ferried about by tuxedo-clad waiters, the din of murmuring voices and laughter echoing in the high, painted ceilings - it still rings in Eggsy’s ears even as they get further and further away. His mind still buzzes from the alcohol, swimming with thoughts of their successfully completed objective and the nearly intoxicating heat of Harry at his side.

It’s cold enough that he can see his breath in the air as a fine mist, and the dancing light off the water in the canals keeps catching in the corner of his eye, like moving shadows just out of view.

They lose their tail in the Piazza San Marco - not because they can melt into a crowd, since at this time of the evening and in the off-season, there’s fewer than a dozen other people in the square. It’s far more likely that the henchmen following them is unwilling to step out into the unprotected openness of the largest square in Venice, watching them while clinging to the cover of the buildings that surround it. It’s no matter, though; if they really wanted her to lose them, they would have. It’s in line with their identities to take a wayward evening stroll, unhurried and unworried about _espionage._

Their hotel is further along the Grand Canal, south enough to be out of sight of the Rialto Bridge, but not quite at the mouth where the canal opens into the lagoon. Eggsy knows it’s a bit of a detour that they took, going through the square, but he trusts Harry’s foresight in leading them in a circuitous route. His large hand lingers on the small of Eggsy’s back to guide him in the right direction; they chat in hushed voices as they pass the _Teatro la Fenice_ , drifting southerly at a relaxed, meandering pace.

Eggsy grins at Harry’s jokes, flirts and tightens his grip on Harry’s arm, reaches up to comb his loosening hair into place. Still, he can’t help but strain his ears for something else beyond the reverberating echo of their footsteps, of their voices. The shadows still cling to the corners not lit by the cool lamplight, and the faint slosh of water and the brackish tang in the air throw off his senses enough for him to question them.

Harry catches him at it - there’s no being successfully surreptitious on the arm of Harry Hart - and he only presses his lips into a thin line, the corners still quirked in a half-smirk.  His eyes slide away from Eggsy’s face, casually flicking to and fro to assess their surroundings.

Eggsy holds no illusions about being easy to read, for better or worse, but he’s glad that this time, at least, Harry knows exactly what’s set him on edge.

He sighs with relief when they step through the glass doors of the hotel, a light shiver running up his spine at the change of temperature - a pleasant one, as the lobby is bright and warm. There aren’t any shadows in the polished white mica of the floor, the blood-red carpets that spread the length of the room to the front desk, where they pick up their key and engage in a little more play-flirting to keep up the act.

It’s _not_ an act to plaster themselves together, in the elevator; _small_ is a generous word for the space it provides, and with the lubrication of the lingering booze Eggsy finds it easy to get a little handsy. It makes Harry chuckle low in his throat, dark and promising; the sound of it sends Eggsy’s heart jumping as much as the feel of Harry's firm muscles under his hand.

"Come, darling," Harry murmurs, dragging Eggsy's hand away from where he's pawing wrinkles into the lines of Harry's suit and laces their fingers together, brushing a kiss along Eggsy's knuckles. "The lift's only taking us to the third floor; you can wait that long."

"Really can't," Eggsy hums, leaning up to brush his nose along the length of Harry's jaw. He's right, though - only another few moments and the pretense can be dropped, they'll be safely behind the doors of their suite and can debrief, plan their next move, take off these goddamn ties and unwind. The coil of tension at the base of his spine, the weird unsettled feeling in his gut won't go away until they're within the walls of their temporary Kingsman base. Eggsy shifts his nervous energy into fidgeting, restless horniness - at least for the sake of the video feed in the elevator and the hallway outside their room.

“Thank Christ,” Eggsy murmurs, when Harry slips the brass key into the lock and it clicks open without complaint. He can already see how the rest of the evening will unfold: tie off, collar unbuttoned, face-first on the bed for a few minutes while Harry putters about removing his cufflinks like a normal person, sitting up to debrief and check in with Merlin, uploading the data cache they’d stolen to the Kingsman servers.

Eggsy’s so lost in his thoughts that it’s to his surprise that when the suite doors close behind them - and he begins to pull his hand out of Harry’s warm, firm grip - Harry’s fingers catch again on the sleeve of his suit-jacket.  

It isn’t a firm grip, just steady enough for the cloth to tug when Eggsy moves a step away; he looks over his shoulder at Harry, an eyebrow raised and a question halfway formed on his lips.

Harry isn’t looking at him. As Eggsy watches his head tilts, considering, and his gaze sweeps the room. It looks exactly as they left it, in its Venetian opulence: green brocade and gilded crown moldings, heavy drapes pulled back from the great windows that open onto the balcony, their shirts and suits hung in neat rows in the half-open closet. But Harry stays preternaturally still, eyes caught on something that Eggsy can’t quite discern, and suddenly Eggsy’s heart is in his throat again.

With another gentle tug, Harry reels him in, spins him into his chest in a move that wouldn’t be out of place on a dance floor. It startles a yelp out of him that Eggsy turns into a choked-out laugh, resting his palms flat on Harry’s broad chest. Harry’s hands are warm and anchoring on his lower back, and Eggsy swallows down his sudden nervousness.

This is Harry. Whatever’s going on, Harry know what to do. Eggsy trusts that.

Their eyes meet and Eggsy licks his lips, dips his head slightly in a nod.

“You’re wearing,” Harry says slowly after a measured beat of silence, enunciating carefully in that posh accent of his, “far too many clothes.”

One of his hands slithers up the planes of Eggsy’s back, cups his shoulder briefly before his clever fingers dig into the meat of the knot in his tie, tugging it loose and beginning on Eggsy’s collar. Harry’s fingers brush the skin of his throat, briefly, as he works; his eyes are dark when they meet Eggsy’s again, and it’s a good thing his other hand hasn’t moved from its position on Eggsy’s waist as Harry steps forward, walking him backwards.

"You gonna fix that for me, eh?" Eggsy asks, cracking a smirk. Between Harry's expert guidance and his own spatial awareness he doesn't trip - though it is a bit of a surprise when his heels click on smooth tile rather than carpet, and cool porcelain nudges into the small of his back. The loo, right. Harry's walked him backwards into the loo.

"Indeed. But first..." Harry leans in, molds their bodies together in a warm line, thigh to shoulder. Eggsy blinks, a little dizzy with the contrast between the cool sink at his back and the press of Harry's warmth against his front. The walk back to the hotel hadn't been long, but it had been brisk enough that under his suit, Eggsy's worked up a bit of a sweat - and Harry has too, body heat leaching between them in a feedback loop. It’s - it’s _hot_ , and something he _knows_ he won’t be able to forget about when they return to Kingsman headquarters, because how do you forget the feeling of the man you’re in half-lust half- _love with_ pinning you to a sink in fucking _Venice_ -

Harry reaches around him with both hands and turns on the taps full-blast.

The rush of water echoes in the tiled bathroom, filling Eggsy’s ears, and he watches with reservation as Harry leans away to tug the bathroom door closed. The sound gets impossibly louder, with the back of the door to echo against, reverberating a white noise that drowns out the quiet of the room beyond.

Harry leans in, puts his warm hands on Eggsy’s hips again to steady himself. It feels only natural to loop his arms around Harry’s neck, to follow his lead and tilt his head to the side when Harry’s mouth inches towards his ear.

“Our suite has been bugged,” Harry says softly, only just audible over the rush of water. Eggsy stiffens.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, though of _course_ Harry’s sure; there wouldn’t be need of this - the water to mask this conversation, the continued charade of chemistry between them if it wasn’t true.

Harry nods, breath ghosting hotly over Eggsy’s ear when he exhales. “I’m positive. In the gilding of the painting’s frame, in the southern left corner of the room.”

Eggsy blinks, frowning, into the side of Harry’s neck. That Harry managed to spot a bug in the intricate floral design of the gilded frame is amazing and impressive; the fact that someone managed to get into their hotel suite and bug their room successfully is quite something else.

Because here’s the thing about Venice: dealing with technology in Venice is a pain in the _arse._

The hotel wi-fi is spotty at best; public wi-fi is even spottier. Merlin’s first order, whenever they run a mission to Venice, is to set up the mobile hotspot on one of their Kingsman-issued phones so that he can ensure a reliable connection. It’s the best way to keep them safe, to keep Merlin in the loop with surveillance, to maintain the feed from their glasses should anything go awry. When they can’t depend on the city’s infrastructure, they rely on their own.

It’s part of the reason so much espionage seems to _happen_ in Venice in the first place: the logistics are inherently harder on an _island_ \- that, and the decadence and opulence of the million-dollar palazzos and the draw of the masked festival Carnevale.

So for someone to attempt to bug them, to want to make sure they really _are_ an arms dealer and his young, pretty boy-toy, they must be sniffing in the right direction. Crime rings aren’t suspicious for nothing.

That’s validating, at least, as much as it’s a massive inconvenience.

Eggsy blinks himself out of his thoughts when Harry squeezes his hip, questioning. “Video or audio bug?”

“Can’t be sure, and I don’t want to risk having a closer look just in case,” Harry says, huffing a frustrated sigh. “And we’re running out of time in here; there’s only so long we can keep the taps going before they start to get suspicious.”

“Right, yeah,” Eggsy licks his lips. He’s tired, brain fuzzy from the booze and worn, and even a second wind of adrenaline can only do so much. Eggsy’s not sure he would outsmart his way out of a paper bag at this point. “Explains why we were being tailed ‘n all.”

“You have good instincts,” Harry shifts, belt buckle clicking against Eggsy’s in a soft metallic noise that sends a shiver of heat down his spine. “I wouldn’t have been on alert to notice the bug, if it hadn’t been for your alertness as we were walking back.”

“You mean _paranoia.”_

Eggsy looks up in time to see a wry smile flicker onto Harry’s face. “Not a bad trait for a spy to have. Knowing when to listen to your gut is as valuable as any other skill you've developed."

“Don’t know how to get out of this, though,” Eggsy admits, flexing his fingers in the material of Harry’s suit, fidgeting and achingly aware that the time they have for honest conversations is trickling away. They’re probably already pushing it.

“We’ll figure it out,” Harry really smiles at him then, small and tired but genuine, and Eggsy wishes his stomach didn’t flip at the sight. “Merlin?”

There’s a brief crackle in their earpieces as Merlin makes his mic live; Eggsy had nearly forgotten that Merlin has been keeping an eye on them, watching through their feeds should they need help in any way. It’s what he’s there for, but it doesn’t make their situation any easier.

“Well, gents,” Merlin clears his throat; papers rustle faintly in the background, along with the comforting whirr of Merlin’s workstation back at HQ. “Bit of a spot there, eh?”

“Anything you can give us?” Harry asks, and Merlin makes a humming noise that is decidedly negative.

"Looking at the feed from a few minutes ago - good spot on the bug, Galahad, but I can't tell if it's video or audio feed either - even zooming in. Tracing the signal coming from it now, but best to assume that the feed is active and transmitting. I'd put money on it belonging the Marino family."

It had been the Marino palazzo they'd left not half an hour before; it wouldn't surprise Eggsy, either, that they'd kept track of their guests for insurance purposes - considering the various kinds of _no good_ the crime family gets up to.

Harry’s lip narrow into a thin line, and he pulls away to meet Eggsy’s eyes. “Nothing for it, then?”

“Quite,” Merlin agrees, “They’re not particularly inclined to blackmail, but if you want your covers to hold water you’d best put your money where your mouths are. No way out but through.”

 _No way out but through._ The words echo in Eggsy's ears, rattle in his mind as he swallows thickly, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. Merlin's not wrong; they'd talked a good game, at the soiree, perfectly played their parts like the professionals spies that they are. But this is - this isn’t just letting his hands linger on a squeeze to Harry’s thigh, brush a kiss along his cheek and whisper dirty things too loudly, with the intention of being overheard. And it’s not just flirting openly, smirking when Harry makes thinly-veiled suggestions as to what they’ll get up to later, in closed quarters, and pressing close.

This is following through, cashing in on all those promises - for an _audience._

“I’ll be turning off video feed, and I’ll set audio ping me only if you use a keyword,” Merlin says, tone muted and oddly soft. Eggsy’s stomach drops, and he feels his face beginning to flush; Merlin may as well have said _safeword._ This is really going to happen. “Signing off - Galahad, Gawain.”

Harry and Eggsy stare silently at each other for a beat. Eggsy imagines that his expression is far more unsure than Harry's look of calm - if subdued - confidence, but can't manage to school his expression into anything that would belie his nerves. Harry can read him anyways, of course; he's close enough to see the emotions flickers across Eggsy's face, probably, and Eggsy exhales shakily.

It's not even that he's never been prepared for the idea of sex on a mission; he's a trained Kingsman, and honeypot operations are part of the package. Sex is something that Eggsy flatters himself in thinking he's pretty good at, even. But something inside him is balking, can't imagine what they're apparently about to do. Because it's Harry, and yes, he's imagined it before, but like this-

"Eggsy," Harry says softly, and snakes his arm around Eggsy's back to twist at the taps again. The bathroom seems to ring with a silence even louder than the gushing water had been, the steady drip from the mouth of the cold tap like a death knell.

"Harry," Eggsy replies, because there doesn't seem to be anything else to say.

Harry licks his lips, and despite himself Eggsy's eyes follow the motion. "There's not much time," Harry starts softly, even quieter now that the noise of the water isn't there to mask their voices. Hopefully the bug in the main room of the suite can only catch the tones of their voices and not the actual words. "But I promise, Eggsy, I won't do anything to you that you don't want."

And fuck, isn't that exactly the problem: Eggsy _does_ want.

"Okay," he manages to respond without sounding as strangled by conflicting desires as he is; Harry searches his face for something, for another moment longer, before reaching up and removing Eggsy's glasses from his face. He's gentle, folding the arms in carefully once they're far enough from Eggsy's face, and setting them down on the side of the sink with a click. Harry's own glasses follow suit, and pressed together, looking at each other without the barriers of glasses between their faces - suddenly, there's not enough air in this tiny bathroom.

"You take the lead," Harry murmurs - growls, because it's low and throaty and his eyes darken at the same time a flush rises on Eggsy's cheeks.

_What?_

"What?" Eggsy's tongue feels heavy in his own mouth, but his traitorous hindbrain has already taken to the idea. "But-"

There's definitely a spark in the air between them that wasn't there before. Eggsy's not quite sure if it's Harry’s natural confidence returning or, now that they've committed to a course of action, Harry throwing himself into it full-throttle. Either way it makes his head spin, as much as his dick is happily on board. Harry seems to sense that he needs a moment to reorient himself after his world has dramatically shifted, but before Eggsy can continue he smirks coyly, opens his mouth to say, “Trust me, I wouldn’t let you do anything to me I wouldn’t want or be comfortable with.”

“Harry,” Eggsy whines, because what kind of answer is that, a carte blanche to take the wheel for mission sex where he feels desperately out of his depth and helplessly turned on by the idea, and Harry’s still giving him that sly smile.

"Trust me," Harry repeats in a whisper, and slowly - clearly telegraphing his movements, giving Eggsy the chance to turn away, to move if he wants to - leans in for a kiss.

Harry's lips are plush, warm, gentle against his as Eggsy lets his eyes slip closed, exhaling a sigh and trying to let his pent-up nerves go with it. He can do this. He does trust Harry, with this and with everything, and if there's nowhere to go but through, he'd rather have Harry at his side than anyone else. And this kiss - this is just for the two of them, not for the sake of keeping cover or performing for the bug or to _prove_ anything. It's just Harry kissing Eggsy, and it's - all right. It's _good_. This is going to be fine.

The tension bleeds out of his shoulders as Harry shifts, tips Eggsy's chin to the side with the barest brush of his thumb and deepens the kiss. Harry must be able to feel it, because Eggsy can feel the corners of his mouth tick up into a smile and the faintest brush of his tongue against Eggsy's lips before he draws away, eyes sparkling mischievously.

"That's more like it," Harry murmurs, and Eggsy gives him an impish grin to rival his smirk before diving back in for another kiss.

Harry may have him pinned to the sink, but he goes easily when Eggsy muscles him backwards with the breadth of his shoulders, shifting his weight and nudging until Harry takes a half-step back. He's receptive, responsive under Eggsy's lips, and it isn't hard to get swept up in the sweet curl of their tongues together, hot and slick when Eggsy opens his mouth wider. Eggsy nibbles at Harry's lower lip, licks into his mouth - and Harry doesn't just let him, he gives as good as he gets. A low groan echoes in the cramped bathroom, over the wet noises of their snogging, and Eggsy's momentarily surprised to find that it came from himself.

Growing bolder, Eggsy flattens his hands on Harry's shoulder and shoves, backing Harry through the half-closed door to the rest of the suite. Harry catches a hand in his lapel, though, tipping him off-balance and they crash through the door together. But it's all right; the door bangs open and they nearly trip over their own feet on the edge of the thick carpet, still connected at the mouth. By some miracle they stay upright, laughing when their teeth click together and Harry releases his grip in Eggsy's suit-jacket, only to find it completely crumpled.

"S'alright," Eggsy quirks his eyebrows, reaching for his wrists to undo his cufflinks and shrug off the jacket entirely. "Looks better on the floor anyways."

Harry grins at that, dipping his fingers into the placket of Eggsy's open collar, brushing his unknotted tie to the floor - where it's quickly followed by clattering Kingsman-issued cufflinks and Eggsy's jacket, as promised. His fingers are warm against Eggsy’s flushed skin, parting his collar like smoothing down pages of a book so that he can see more of Eggsy’s bared collarbone.

"Like what you see?" Eggsy flirts, mostly to watch Harry grin and try not to roll his eyes at the awful line. But he doesn't deny it, eyes dilating as Eggsy knocks his hands away and steps into his space, breathes in Harry's air. “Let’s even the odds, shall we?”

Despite his bravado, something between excitement and nervousness makes Eggsy’s hands tremble a bit as he works at Harry’s buttons, starting under his loosened tie and then moving down the line of his chest. Harry makes a soft noise in his throat when Eggsy gets his hands on his skin, brushing against the sensitive skin of his stomach to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist underneath the layers of his clothes. He’s warm, a little sweat-damp at his lower back,  tastes like champagne when Eggsy ducks in for another messy, open-mouthed kiss.

The thought of following the path his hands have taken down Harry’s body with his tongue sparks in his mind, and Eggsy files the temptation away for later; neither of them are fully undressed yet. But fitted together as they are, with the growing hardness in his trousers pressed against something undeniably hard in _Harry’s_ , nakedness is a sudden priority.

“Off,” Eggsy mumbles against Harry’s lips, smearing their mouths together with barely reigned in enthusiasm, if a little uncoordinated. _Take the lead_ probably also probably didn’t mean, in Harry’s mind, _be bossy in bed_ , but Eggsy has gone and taken the prerogative anyways. Harry isn’t complaining; he moans into Eggsy’s mouth when Eggsy shifts his hips, rubs their cocks together through the layers of their trousers, squeezes Harry’s hips possessively. He pulls his hands away so he can help Harry with his suit jacket, though, skimming it off his shoulders and drifting his fingers down to linger on Harry’s biceps, elbows, wrists as they are revealed.

It’s intoxicating, to be able to touch like this - and it’s for a mission, but Eggsy would be remiss to take this opportunity by the horns.

Eggsy leans up to nuzzle at Harry’s neck, and in the brief moment before his lips make contact he spies the bed over Harry’s shoulder, and doesn’t _that_ sound like a good idea. Heat settles comfortably in his gut, a heady anticipation of what is to come. He can enjoy this: the musky scent of Harry’s cologne up close, the tang of sweat layered underneath. Harry’s ribs move underneath his palms as he breathes, gasps messy inhales so that he can keep kissing, and kissing, and kissing. Eggsy could get lost in the sensation of Harry’s tongue; he nibbles on Harry's lower lip and coaxes Harry's tongue into his mouth, so warm and wet against his own. A pulse of heat thrums through his blood when Harry moans, the sound reverberating in Harry’s chest to Eggsy’s fingertips. He’s beautifully responsive to everything that Eggsy does - which isn’t something he would have expected, but sends blood right to his cock nonetheless.

It’s past time that Harry gets naked - at least to match Eggsy, who is one rumpled and half-unbuttoned suit-shirt away from being bare-chested - but when Eggys skirts his hand up under Harry’s shirt, his knuckles brush up against the firm leather and cool metal of his shoulder-holster.

Fuck, he’d forgotten that Harry had been wearing it, just to be safe; for his part, Eggsy had elected to go without the added firepower of a gun for the slimmer, stealthier options in the Kingsman arsenal. He extracts his hands from the alluring warmth of the space between Harry’s shirt and his bare skin, leaving one last biting kiss on Harry’s mouth before pulling away to meet his eyes.

Harry looks so good like this - breathing heavily through his nose, nostrils flared and face flushed a flattering pink. His lips are kiss-swollen, pinker than anything Eggsy’s ever seen, eyes blown wide and black and hungry. He lets Eggsy lean away, but not very far; he runs his hands down Eggsy’s biceps, smooths over his forearms and then back down to cup his elbows as he reaches up for the clasps of Harry’s shoulder-holster.

The leather is warm from Harry’s body heat, supple from years of use. It’s well-worn and darker around the buckle, where Harry’s fingers have brushed against it hundreds of times when taking it on and off. The whole kit is rich brown, dark against the starched white of Harry’s shirt. Eggsy teases his fingers down Harry’s pectoral, slips his fingers underneath the shoulder-holster just to the left of Harry’s heart. His breath catches when he does so; Harry’s so warm, everywhere he touches, heat bleeding through the starched fabric of his shirt, and his heart is thudding in his chest in time with Eggsy’s elevated pulse.

Harry keeps his eyes on Eggsy’s face as he works at the buckle clasp of the shoulder-holster, big hands still cupped around the meat of his elbows and fingers sneaking underneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves. It’s distracting enough that Eggsy fumbles the buckle the first time, glances a petulant look in Harry’s direction before resuming his task. He cups the holster itself, keeping his hands steady as the buckle comes free and he can ease the whole thing from Harry's shoulders, one at a time. It's another excuse to smooth his hands across the breadth of Harry's chest, around his back, over the muscular curves arms again.

Harry’s shirt stretches tight across his chest when he rolls his shoulders back, helping Eggsy drag the leather holster away from him, and Eggsy’s mouth goes dry. He hasn’t even gotten the man’s shirt off yet, and his cock is harder than it’s been in longer than he’s willing to admit.

Eggsy won’t glance down and check, but he’d put money on the perfect, Kingsman-tailored lines of his trousers totally _ruined_ by the tent he’s pitching for Harry Hart.

Harry’s tie makes a soft noise when it hits the carpeted floor, his shirt a more muffled thwap when Eggsy tosses it over his shoulder, giving Harry a roguish smirk all the while. The holster he lowers to the floor more carefully - there is a gun in it, after all - and before the leather strap has fully slipped from Eggsy’s fingers Harry’s hauling him in again, reeling him in by the belt-loops for another thorough snog. Harry's chest is exposed for Eggsy's exploration now, though, and his fingers wander over Harry's bare skin as he nudges a knee between Harry's, starts to walk them backwards once again.

It's less than a dozen paces to the suite's king bed, but it takes them far longer than it should before the backs of Harry's knees hit the side of the mattress and they tumble onto it: they can't get enough of each other's skin, pausing when one of them lets loose an obscene moan and suddenly kissing is more important than moving, or to remove another fiddly piece of clothing. By the time they do make it to the bed Eggsy's openly panting, and Harry's pleasantly flushed all the way down his neck and chest. Eggsy's pulse thunders in his ears at the sight of him, at the marks blooming on the side of his neck that he put there. Harry looks like this because of him - he's blushing and squirming and hard because of _Eggsy._

He sits up on his hands and knees on the bed, poised above Harry so that he can just look his fill. It’s a precarious position - they’re still far too close to the edge of the bed, but Eggsy’s a spy, he knows how to live _dangerously_. His hands are fisted in the fabric of the duvet on either side of Harry's head, and he clenches his fingers a little tighter so he doesn't give in to the instinct to touch. He wants this image seared in his memory: Harry, eyes glassy and smirking while he breathes heavily, halfway between debauched and wrecked. The front fastenings on his trousers have come undone - Eggsy only has a hazy memory of reaching for it, too engrossed in the slip of their tongues together - and his cock is straining outward, the bulging outline of it downright pornographic.

Eggsy swallows. Okay, he has no doubt that he's never going to be able to forget this.

He must be taking too long for Harry's tastes, because with another sly smile, Harry smooths his hands up Eggsy's thighs, up to his hips and then around to squeeze his arse. Eggsy takes a ragged breath, taking the hint and rocking his hips into Harry's, relishing the way Harry arches into the movement, abs flexing. The bed creaks, the room filling with the heady sounds of bitten-off moans and rustling fabric, and that's when it hits Eggsy like a brick wall: there's a bug in the room. They're being - _recorded_ . Someone can hear these private sounds, these groans and gasps that Eggsy, irrationally and with a sudden hot burst of feeling deep in his gut, wants to be _his_ and his alone.

It would be one thing if it was Merlin overhearing them; there’s such a thing as professional courtesy in Kingsman, and Merlin’s always politely discreet about what his agents get up to on missions, for as often as he ends up a voyeur to their escapades. Eggsy grinds into Harry a little harder, mouth set in a line as he tries to sort through the dark mix of emotion seized in his stomach. Harry's eyes flutter, fingers digging into the plush muscle of his arse, and Eggsy repeats the thrusting motion with a whine.

It's not quite jealousy, not quite anger - more of a potent mix of possessiveness and selfish desire, dizzying in its strength. And yet - there's a little thread at the back of his mind that as much as he doesn't want to share Harry, it's a little hot to imagine that they're being recorded. That if they get their hands on the footage, he could watch himself fucking Harry again and again. He could watch the flickers of desire as they cross Harry's face, could note exactly where he likes being touched from the way his back bows and how he bites his bottom lip, could study when to use his hands and when to use his mouth to drive Harry to the knife's edge of pleasure. Footage from his Kingsman glasses would have been even better than the painting on the opposite wall, and Eggsy has a momentary pang of regret that he'd taken them off.

But Eggsy prides himself in being a quick learner, and with Harry spread out on the bed in front of him, there's no better time to start discovering these than things now.

(And maybe he can see about extracting a copy of the video feed when they're back at HQ.)

He feels his way backwards off the bed, a little clumsy until his foot makes contact with plush carpet on the floor; he slides all the way off until he's kneeling at Harry's knees at the edge of the mattress. Harry quirks an eyebrow at him and winches up on his elbows to peer down at Eggsy, delightfully rumpled - when he sits up his hair starts to fall into his face in loose strands.

Eggsy smirks up at him, flitting his fingers the considerable length of Harry's legs, smoothing down the seams on the sides of his thighs and then up the insteams. He's listening for the hitch in Harry's breath as his fingers reach further towards his flies, which is just as reward as the way Harry's legs list to the sides, spreading so that Eggsy's hands have more room to travel their course. Half-dressed and nearly bulging out of his trousers, muscles quivering under Eggsy's touch, Harry looks more than delicious. Eggsy's mouth waters at the thought of getting his mouth on him, of peeling him out of his remaining clothes and tasting each of the places where his skin that have gone slick with sweat.

Lingering, reluctantly, he runs his hands all the way down to Harry's ankles, squeezing briefly before heading for the laces on his brogues. Harry huffs a quiet laugh, and Eggsy glances up at him through his own sweat-damp hair, cracking a wide smile upon seeing Harry's flushed grin.

"You don't have to," he says, and Eggsy wrinkles his nose, tugging at the tongue of the brogue once the laces are unknotted so that he can slip the shoe from Harry's foot.

"Don't have to, but I can," Eggsy murmurs, kneading his thumb into the arch of Harry's foot and flashing him a satisfied smirk when Harry groans, foot flexing in Eggsy's grip. He presses again, brings up his other hand to massage the ball of Harry's foot through his sock, and is rewarded with another moan that makes his breath catch and the heady, heavy weight of desire thicken in his gut. He peels of the sock, giving his foot a parting squeeze before moving on to Harry's other shoe.

He repeats the process reverently, picking at the laces until he can slip the brogue away and toss it somewhere behind him; admittedly, it's a little irreverent to throw a Kingsman brogue, and potential dangerous considering the hidden hardware that the shoes are packing but fuck - he's undressing Harry Hart, and Eggsy can't resist something that will make Harry smile. The sock follows quickly, and with the barriers of Harry's shoes out of the way, it's past time that his trousers join them on the floor.

Harry slits his eyes open to watch Eggsy reach for his waistband, blinking with a languid, sex-addled lethargy that makes Eggsy's throat tighten, and he swallows thickly. He skims his fingers along the line where the soft skin of his belly meets the fine, dark wool of his trousers; Harry's not so cut as some of the other agents, but he's lean and muscular, thighs pleasantly firm under Eggsy's forearms as he finally reaches for his flies. The zip goes easily, and Eggsy folds the plackets of cloth back to get a better look at how Harry's cock is straining against his black boxer-briefs. The red, glistening head of his cock peeks out of the top of his pants, pulling the waistband away from Harry's body with its impressive girth, and fuck, Eggsy's mouth is getting wetter by the second.

Eggsy licks his lips and looks up to find Harry staring at his mouth; they're clearly thinking the same thing, and when Eggsy tugs at his trousers Harry's obliging in lifting his hips, letting Eggsy drag his trousers down and off. Harry's legs look as good as they'd felt, better than Eggsy had always pictured underneath the perfect tailoring: long and tapering up to his narrow hips, making his shoulders appear all the broader.

“Up,” Eggsy jerks his chin, gesturing to the rest of the king bed behind Harry. It’s a generous amount of mattress real estate that they aren’t taking advantage of, and while he doesn’t mind being on his knees - quite literally - he wants to take his time with this. Harry's obliging, after quirking his eyebrows, and makes quick time in scooting up the duvet so that Eggsy can follow after him. He climbs up, prowling over Harry's body until he can settle comfortably between Harry's parted thighs, elbows on either side of his hips and nuzzling into the fine line of hair leading down from his navel. Harry twitches underneath him - both the muscles in his abs and his cock, which is pinned under Eggsy's collarbone - and he makes a humming whine when Eggsy exhales hotly on his bare skin.

Wordlessly, Eggsy wets his lips and then follows the path he's just pressed into Harry's skin, mouthing the wiry trail of hair and then detouring to suck a pink mark at the vee of Harry's hip. The noise that he makes and the throb of his cock sends another pulse of pleasure singing through Eggsy's blood, and applies himself vigorously to the task of eliciting as many groans and grunts as he can.

By the time he's slipping his fingertips into the waistband of Harry's boxer-briefs, Harry's nudging him in the ribs with one foot, urging him to move on and lavish attention on his cock. Eggsy presses one last kiss to Harry's pinkened hip, smirking up at Harry's flushed and slightly irritated expression. He wiggles his fingers a little further under the elastic, letting his thumbs traitorously brush the leaking head of Harry's cock, feigning innocence at Harry's gut-punch groan. But he takes pity, sits back a bit so that he can slide the fabric down, far enough so that Harry's cock bobs free against the damp planes of his stomach and he can kick the boxer-briefs the rest of the way off.

Eggsy shifts downward, nostrils flaring and face heating at the musky scent, the pure heat radiating from Harry's cock. He's thick and hard, the wet tip Eggsy had gotten a peek of only a tease of the full package in front of him. His foreskin is pulled back from the glossy, red head of it, the crown beautifully flared in a way Eggsy knows will feel heavy and perfect on his tongue. It oozes precome as he watches, thick and clear and slipping in fat beads towards Harry's pale stomach, and Eggsy can't help but lean in and lap them up.

Harry jerks like he's been electrified at the first contact of his tongue; Eggsy's quick to anchor his hands on Harry's hips, pinning him more firmly to the bed as he sucks the head into his mouth, savoring the salty tang he finds there. His cock is blood-hot against his tongue, throbbing with Harry's galloping heartbeat, and Eggsy moans around him at the feel of it. Belatedly he wraps his hand around its root, squeezing gently and guiding Harry's cock to slant upwards so he can better slide his mouth down, taking him deeper. His mouth keeps watering and the extra slick doesn't hurt, not when Harry's considerable girth is stretching his lips and nudging so far that he lowers his jaw even more. It wouldn't do to scrape Harry's cock with his teeth - though when his teeth glance across his shaft when Eggsy draws off, Harry gasps and nearly chokes Eggsy by bucking into the sensation.

Eggsy imagines it's unflattering, how much he's drooling when he pulls off with a wet pop, but Harry's staring down the length of his body at Eggsy's mouth with unrestrained heat. He grins, giving Harry's cock a chaste kiss, keeping their eyes locked all the while.

"You should see how you look right now," Eggsy says, and then clears his throat, momentarily surprised at the rasp in his voice.

Harry's tongue darts out to wet his lips before he replies, panting, "Speak for yourself."

Eggsy gives him a tooth smirk at that, unable to resist the urge to wink as he runs his lips up and down the underside of his cock, tonguing the taut bowstring of Harry's frenulum as his cock jerks in his hand, twitching.

"Wish you could see yourself, though," he continues, pausing to jack Harry's cock a few times, spreading the slick at the tip up and down the rest of his cock. "And I thought I knew a thing or two about pornography. Didn't know a gentleman could flush so pretty."

Harry snorts, but Eggsy's secretly gleeful to see that his blush keeps deepening, spreading down his chest. "A gentleman knows how to take a compliment, at least. You should see your mouth, darling. I've never seen lips so made for sucking cock; you look so good wrapped around me, and you feel even better."

It’s amazing there’s any blood left in the rest of Eggsy’s body for him to blush, but he can feel his face heating at Harry’s words. A hot, shivery feeling slides down his spine and the fine hair on his forearms and the nape of his neck stand on end; he can’t stop his picturing the images that Harry’s planted in his brain. The shots flicker past his mind’s eye, like a video on fast-forward: his own mouth, reddened and kissed-bruised and slick; his eyes dark, lashes thick as he blinks slowly as he wraps his lips around the head of Harry’s cock; a sheen of sweat across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and the sides of his neck, glossy-wet like a centerfold.

That’s what Harry’s seeing. That’s- maybe that’s what Harry _wants_ to see. _Fuck._

The thought has him so achingly hard that he can’t think of a witty reply, so he goes for the next best thing: putting his mouth to good use.

He sucks Harry’s cockhead back into his mouth, gamely stamping down on his gag reflex to take him even deeper. It's been a while since he's done this, but the ache that's starting to form at the hinge of his jaw is something he can savor - especially when Harry is looking as progressively wrecked as he is.

Eggsy's so engrossed in his task - in perfecting the rhythm of his fist and mouth, curling and wriggling his tongue at the flared base of the crown, playing with the sensitive edge of Harry's foreskin - that he nearly starts at the sensation of fingers threading into his damp hair. He inhales sharply through his nose when he looks up, finding Harry's gaze locked on the place where Eggsy's mouth is sealed around him. When their eyes meet Eggsy makes a point of sucking harder, inching further down on Harry's shaft, and the hand in his hair shifts, grip tightening. It's not painful, not controlling - Harry doesn't push him off or try to force Eggsy to take him deeper - it's just a warm reminder, another point of connection between them.

Harry gives him a crooked smile and tugs gently at Eggsy hair again, and he realizes belatedly that he's stopped his ministrations. He loosens his grip at the base of Harry's cock to just the circle of his forefinger and thumb, sinking down further to spread the slick with his lips before drawing off again, swallowing thickly and diving back for more. He goes slow at first, intentionally - there's nothing wrong with being a bit of a cocktease, and he could probably get off just from playing with Harry's cock with his mouth - but of course that's when Harry drags his blunt nails across Eggsy's scalp and starts talking.

"Just look at you," Harry purrs, sounding far more coherent than Eggsy would have thought for how his cock keeps twitching in Eggsy's mouth. His own throbs in his pants at the rough, dark timbre of Harry's voice; he's probably leaving a wet mark on the duvet, he's leaking so much. "I've thought of this before, you know - you on your knees, taking my cock. Knew you'd be good at this."

Eggsy shivers. He doesn't know if Harry's saying these things for his benefit or the bug's, but in this moment - with the weight of Harry on his tongue and his skin feeling stretched tight and over-warm and electrified - he can't bring himself to care. Because it makes his heart skip, to hear the filthy words in Harry's crisp accent, his tone collected and musing like he's commenting on the nuanced flavors of a fine scotch and not telling Eggsy he's imagined this exact, explicit scenario. He whines around Harry's cock, the only response he can manage with his mouth so full, and Harry chuckles.

"Fuck, yes - let me hear you. The only downside of having your mouth full, though it's as talented as you've always bragged. _Fuck_ ," he hisses the last word as Eggsy drags his teeth gently up, letting Harry really feel it but careful to keep the touch light. From the tremor in Harry's thighs and the rhythmic rocking of his hips under Eggsy's steady grip, he doesn't think this will last too much longer.

That's to say nothing of the way he can't stop grinding his own cock into the mattress, the sensation barely a relief from the pressure of it straining his waistband.

Harry's back bows on a particularly spine-tingling suck, and Eggsy pulls one hand off Harry's hip to palm himself through his boxer-briefs, pressing the heel of his hand down the length of his clothed cock and up again. His breath turns ragged around the cock in his mouth, sloppier by the minute with the combination of spit and precome. Harry's hand slides down from its place cupping the back of Eggsy's head, thumb gently pressing at the soft spot between Eggsy's jaw and ear. They groan in tandem when Harry slips his thumb into Eggsy's mouth alongside his cock.

Eggsy has to pull back, at that; Harry's cock smears a wet line on the underside of his chin, obscenely red and shiny, so hard it looks like it hurts.

"Can't get enough of my mouth?" he asks, leaning again to give Harry's cockhead a brief kiss before letting Harry press his thumb to his bottom lip again.

"Never," Harry rumbles, eyes ink-black in the oily yellow light of the room. The word slips out so effortlessly, so easily, that Eggsy can’t help but believe it’s the truth.

"Don't think I could ever get enough of your cock neither," he admits, running his fingertips along the hot, wet underside of Harry's cock. "Want to ride it, if you think you can last."

It jerks in his hand and Eggsy smirks; there's no lying about whether or not Harry would like that, with such lovely reactions.

"I was rather hoping you'd fuck me," Harry says in reply, and Eggsy's mind goes blank at the same time his cock throbs achingly, desperately hard.

“You-” he stutters.

"Want you to fuck me," Harry repeats, slowly and not a small amount smugly amused - which, fuck you very much, shouldn't look so good on a man that's blushing to his navel, with his cock resting thick and red and shiny against his pale belly.

Harry quirks an eyebrow at him and nudges him in the ribs with his toes, looking suddenly as fond as he does thoroughly wrecked, and something curls low in Eggsy's belly. His words from earlier echo in Eggsy's mind - that there's nothing Eggsy could do that Harry wouldn't want, that Harry wouldn't let that happen.

This is Harry _asking_ for Eggsy to fuck him. He wants this, wants _Eggsy_.

There's another gentle nudge in his side, and Eggsy blinks himself out of his thoughts, a wide smirk growing on his face.

"Turn over," he says, giving Harry's hips one parting squeeze before he sits up so that Harry can roll onto his belly. Harry flashes him a matching grin as he does, wiggling a little further up the bed with his arse on display.

And oh, _yes._ Eggsy does want this too.

When Harry’s settled he taps gently on one knee; Harry spreads his knees and looks over his shoulder as Eggsy kneels between them, hitching Harry’s legs more comfortably to either side of his hips. His legs are long, faintly freckled here and there, pale and lean and densely muscled. Eggsy runs his hands up the back of Harry's thighs, cupping his arse and continuing up the planes of is back, down again to the dimples at the base of his spine.

Harry’s still watching him from over his shoulder, hair starting to slip into his blown-wide eyes. The gray coming in at his temples shines silver in the low light, damp with sweat and starting to curl out of its carefully combed style. He’s deliciously rumpled, but turned on his stomach there’s no evidence that Eggsy’s already had a taste - so he doesn’t hesitate on the impulse to leave a few dark, sucked-on marks across Harry’s thighs, dotting his skin in a constellation leading up to the crease of his plush arse.

“Lube?” Eggsy asks, muffled into the damp skin of Harry’s  left thigh, leaving one parting kiss on the last lovebite before he sits up, grinds his clothed erection against Harry’s bare arse. It’s not skin-against-skin but the friction makes him shudder, draws out the feel of it even further.

"My bag, by the foot of the bed," Harry half-groans into a pillow, rutting into the duvet underneath him. They're going to have to strip it off the bed when they're done, there's already so many damp spots.

Eggsy nearly trips himself in his rush to slide off the bed and rummage through Harry’s kit; thankfully, despite Harry's propensity for packing in only the loosest sense of the word, the lube is tucked in with the rest of his unpacked toiletries.

He drops it next to Harry’s hip when he returns to the bed, bouncing a bit on the spring mattress as he settles once more.

The click of the cap sounds oddly loud in the quiet of the suite, the only other sounds from their harsh panting and the faint buzz of electricity from the old bedside lamps and the intricate glass chandelier at the center of the room. Eggsy spills the lube onto his fingers, rubbing the viscous liquid between the tips of his fingers to warm it up.

He swallows thickly when he turns his attention to Harry’s arse again; he’s not even the one about to get fingered and he’s oddly breathless with anticipation, his heart trying to beat its way out of his ribcage. He runs a hand up Harry’s flank before he cups the firm cheeks of his arse in either hand – careful not to smear messy fingerprints with his right hand – and squeezes, parts them reverently.

His first touch is hesitant, and immediately he can feel Harry’s reaction, how his hole flutters at the slick, foreign sensation. But Harry himself doesn’t complain, doesn’t tell him to stop or to hurry up. Eggsy teases a fingertip in, easy because it’s so slippery and Harry’s pliant and hot underneath him, and presses in to the knuckle in one slick slide. Harry hums, still as he lets his body adjust to the intrusion; Eggsy waits until Harry’s hitching his hips back, seeking movement, to pull out and thrust his finger in again.

He builds a slow rhythm like that, attuned to the clench of Harry around him and the way his breath catches, listening for the muted noises he makes to know when to add a second finger, and a third. It only gets wetter when he tries to drizzle more lube onto his fingers with his left hand and makes a bit of a mess, painting a wet stripe of lube across Harry’s arse, but Harry only laughs and then moans when Eggsy swipes the extra lube up and smears it on the twitching rim of his hole. Fuck, he’s so responsive, blood-hot inside and tight around Eggsy’s fingers.

Eggsy knows he’s ready when he begins to rhythmically clench around Eggsy’s fingers on each inward thrust, his body clinging to him with surprising force. It makes Eggsy dizzy, knowing that soon that tight heat will be wrapped around his cock, that he’ll be inside Harry.

“You’re so tight,” he mumbles, licking his lips. His world has narrowed to the vise of Harry’s arse around his fingers, the pulsing of his sensitive rim on every push and pull. “Going to feel so good around my cock, gonna fill you up and fuck you so that you feel it tomorrow.”

He twists his wrist, reaching for that spot inside Harry that-

Harry makes a strangled moan and clamps around his fingers, arching his back and grinding his hips into the bed. The muscles in his thigh jumping and tremoring as Eggsy gently presses his fingertips to that spot again, eliciting another long-drawn groan.

“I’m ready,” Harry rocks back onto his fingers, fucking himself with languid thrusts that keep building in tempo. “Come on – _fuck me_.”

Eggsy doesn’t need to be told twice.

He withdraws his wet fingers slowly, and Harry makes a low whine at the loss of them inside him, his loosened rim pink and shiny and temptingly mouth-watering as Eggsy stares. _Another time,_ something dark and hungry in the back of his mind says, and Eggsy fumbles with the cap of the lube again with shaking fingers.

He has to strip out of his pants, finally; he’s been so engrossed in making sure Harry feels good, in lavishing attention on every inch of pale skin that’s his to touch and kiss and suck to a lovely pink. His cock bobs comically against his stomach when it’s freed, leaving a glossy trail of precome against the trail of hair below his navel.

Eggsy’s hard enough – and honestly, _close_ enough – that he only jacks himself a few time before squeezing more lube into his open palm. It’s a little cool against his cock, but a pleasant jolt, one that’s grounding in the face of the prospect of putting his cock in Harry Hart. _Christ_ , this is really happening.

Harry looks over his shoulder again, panting, when Eggsy’s clearly taken longer than he’s expecting; their eyes meet, and a jolt of lust zips up Eggsy’s  spine at the naked heat in Harry’s eyes.

“All right?” he asks, sounding as out of breath and turned on as Eggsy feels, voice a low rasp that Eggsy’s never heard before, deep and sex-roughened. He tightens his grip at the base of his erection when it throbs.

“Yeah, can you-“ Eggsy falters, “turn over? I want to see your face.”

Harry’s eyes darken impossibly, and he flips without preamble, legs kicking out a little uncoordinated. He did that – _Eggsy_ did that, fingered Harry until his legs started to turn to jelly and he’s twisting onto his back for Eggsy when he asks. Anyone watching the footage of this can see how tightly-wound he is, how good Eggsy is to him and how painfully hard they are for each other, fuck.

Eggsy slides closer, arranges Harry’s thighs to either side of him so that he can fit his narrow hips between them, admiring the love bites he’d left on Harry’s hips and inner thighs all the while. Harry’s erection hadn’t flagged a bit while Eggsy had fingered him – or, if it did, he’s fully hard again now, stretched out for Eggsy. He cups Eggsy’s shoulders with damp fingers, reeling him in for a filthy snog, all enthusiastic tongue and the sweet sting of teeth.

Harry gasp when Eggsy reaches down and finds his hole with his fingers, nudging his cock alongside them so that he can line up. Eggsy can’t breathe, his breath trapped his chest as he eases in with a slow, steady push, sinking to the root in tight heat.

And fuck, is he tight. They both exhale roughly when Eggsy’s in to the hilt, his balls brushing the plush cushion of Harry’s arse. Eggsy mouths at Harry’s jaw as he adjusts, reigning in the need to move his hips, to draw out, until Harry’s ready for him to move. He can feel the tension unspooling from Harry’s shoulders, though, until he’s sagging more comfortably into the sheets.

Harry catches Eggsy’s eye and grins playfully, clenching around him intentionally so that Eggsy groans, gut-punched at the overwhelming sensation. But if Harry’s in a place where he can joke then he’s ready for Eggsy to really fuck him, so Eggsy draws out slowly, pushes back in with a smooth roll of his hips.

It’s not fast at first, a languid tempo that has them arching into each other and meeting thrust for thrust, thorough and increasingly deep. Harry arches his back, hands roving aimlessly on the sheets and head tossed back on a particularly good thrust that must graze his prostate, from the obscene moan that he makes with his jaw dropped open. Eggsy plants his hands on Harry’s hips – not to stop him squirming but so he can lever himself down, lick sloppily into Harry’s mouth and pour more kisses on his reddened lips.

Harry nips at his lips, presses up to give as good as he gets; it’s not enough, though, and Eggsy wraps one hand around Harry’s upper thigh to pull his leg up, give himself more room to maneuver. His thrusts become shorter, sharper, driving into Harry so hard that he shifts up the bed, pressing into the mass of pillows at the base of the headboard. There’s a litany of near-constant noise coming out of Harry’s mouth, now, a mix of colorful swears and vowel-heavy moans and filthy encouragement. The words wash over Eggsy, a stream of _feel so good inside me, fuck, your cock-_ and _harder, harder – so good for me, just like that-_ and _put your back into it, just like – Christ, fuck me-_

The praise sends shivers skittering across his skin, makes his hips stutter and then ratchet up the pace, a punishing rhythm that has their skin slapping together, echoing erotic and loud in the high-ceiling. Harry’s voice – wrecked by sex, alternating between a low growl and a heady whine – has his breath catching in his chest, his balls drawing closer to his body as he tumbles towards orgasm. Harry’s got to be nearly there with him, muscles trembling and hips in constant motion to meet Eggsy thrust for thrust.

His sweat-slick thigh nearly slips from Eggsy’s grip and Eggsy digs his fingernails in, hitches his leg up farther so that Harry’s hips tilt up. It means he has to balance on one hand over Harry, but that’s okay; with his head hanging lower he can get his mouth on the column of Harry’s flushed neck, sucking a mark to match the ones on the other side.

He knows the new angle is working when Harry shouts a ragged _Fuck!_ Into his ear, jerking underneath Eggsy with a fierce energy that he wasn’t aware Harry had left. He’s all undulating motion, taking his pleasure as much as Eggsy’s giving, and when Eggsy feels the bite of Harry’s fingernails in long streaks across his back, scrabbling desperately for purchase, he knows Harry’s nearly there.

Eggsy tightens his grip on Harry’s hips and slams home, feeling as much as hearing the air pushed out of Harry’s lungs on each thrust. He pistons in and out, achingly aware of the way Harry’s hole is fluttering around him, totally outside of Harry’s control.

"Come for me," Eggsy pants, slamming into Harry again and again, blinking sweat out of his eyes, cock throbbing as Harry clenches around him. The whine building in Harry's throat turns into a full moan when he opens his mouth, so loud that it drowns out the knock of the heavy headboard against the wall.  "Come on- come for me, fuck, Harry."

At the sound of his name Harry convulses, clenches about Eggsy impossibly tight as he comes in thick spurts across his own chest. He flushes even deeper, back drawn bow-tight, cock thick and so, so wet against his belly. Harry's fingernails leave crescent-shaped imprints in the skin of Eggsy's shoulders, pricks of pleasure-pain on Eggsy's over-sensitive skin. He fucks Harry through his orgasm, until Harry's boneless and the pool of slick on his stomach starts to streak and spill down his sides and onto the bedspread. Harry's eyelids flutter, and he blinks them open as Eggsy forces himself to grind to a halt, inching in and out - Harry must be oversensitive by now, wrung out and blushing and panting heavily as he is.

But his eyes are still ink-dark when he meets Eggsy's eyes, and he bends his long legs to cross them behind Eggsy, tugging him closer with a heel against the sweaty skin of his arse.

"Well, don't stop on my account," he rumbles, winding  Eggsy closer and setting his teeth in the strong line of Eggsy's shoulders. "I can take whatever you have to give," he murmurs into Eggsy's ear, hot and rough.

Eggsy's hips snap forward of their own accord, and despite his apparent exhaustion, Harry clenches around him again. It's that and the rakish smirk that Harry gives him, the dirty suggestions of what other things Harry wants Eggsy to do to him that finally sends him over the edge.

He comes with a broken groan, doubling over Harry and fucking in as deep as he can. He judders, shivers at each pulse, spilling into Harry with everything he's got. White bursts behind his screwed-shut eyes, heat singing through his veins in a rush that roars in his ears like thunder.

With a shaky exhale he collapses onto Harry, after a moment frozen in white-hot pleasure. Harry grunts when Eggsy's chin jabs against his collarbone, but his hand comes up to thread into Eggsy's hair, stroking through it as Eggsy comes down, both of them breathing hard. There's an obvious stickiness trapped between them, rapidly cooling to a tepid tackiness, but they're content to lay pressed together.

Eggsy presses kisses to the skin within reach of his mouth; Harry's grip in his hair tightens briefly, acknowledging, but they don't say anything.

He knows, soon, they'll have to get up - if nothing else to clean up the mess between them, since staying stuck together with a gluey patina of jizz is no way to fall asleep - but for now, this is perfect. The quiet is calm, settled, and the gentle sounds of their breathing is the only noise in lavish suite.

Their breathing, and the steady drum of Harry's heart under his ear. It's enough - it's perfect.

He doesn't remember when he falls asleep. 

 

\- - - 

 

Eggsy wakes when the mattress bounces and shifts underneath him, and there’s the blessed, unmistakable clink of a spoon on china somewhere to his left. Behind his eyelids the room is bright, but he can’t tell what time it is besides _morning_ ; his internal clock is still off from staying up so long the night before.

 _The night before_. He doesn’t tense because it would take too much energy to do so, but in an instant he’s extra-aware of the soreness in his muscles, his state of dress - well, lack thereof - and the soft noises of Harry settling back into the bed beside him. The sheets hadn’t even started to cool - he must not have been away for very long at all.

“Good morning,” Harry says placidly, and fuck his hawk-like observation skills, _honestly_. Eggsy nearly wishes that the bed would swallow him up, but now that Harry’s noticed he’s awake, there’s little point in putting off actual human conversation any longer. Another twenty minutes in the pleasantly drowsy, early-morning feeling between asleep and awake would’ve been brilliant, though.

Eggsy stretches and yawns, feeling his jaw crick - and ah, that’s right, he’d spent a good portion of the evening before with a cock in his mouth - before he shimmies up the bed. It takes him a moment of fighting with the duvet before he can peel the covers back to his waist and sit up against the headboard, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Mornin’,” he manages to blearily reply, because Harry’s the kind of bloke who expects verbal responses even at half-nine, or whatever sunny hour it is in Venice.

He cracks another wide yawn, belatedly covering his mouth with the back of his hand, and something cool nudges into his upper arm - the edge of a saucer, Eggsy finds when he turns and looks. Harry’s holding out a steaming cup of coffee for him to take, enough milk in it to turn the coffee a light toffee-brown. When Eggsy carefully takes the cup and saucer and takes a tentative sip, it’s as sweet as it is milky - just like Eggsy likes it.

Something clenches behind his ribs, at the thought that Harry not only knows how he takes his tea - which, as British spies, is more often what they have, but when in Rome and all that - but he also knows exactly how Eggsy prefers his coffee. He mumbles a _thank you_ and glances at Harry out of the corner of his eyes, feeling the heat rush to his face. He saves himself from having to say anything more substantial by taking a deep drink of his coffee, muscling past the sting of it on his tongue; it’s still quite hot.

Thankfully, Harry is content to sit in companionable silence as the caffeine works its way into Eggsy’s system. He’s spread out on his side of the bed, long legs crossed at the ankles, feet bare - as are his legs, disappearing up underneath the lavish crimson robe that must have been in the ensuite bathroom. His hair is still adorably mussed, like he’d run his fingers through it to get it out of his eyes and not much else. It’s- Eggsy can’t quite put his finger on the warmth in his chest that the sight of him inspires, doesn’t want to look close enough to give it a name.

Naming it would make it more real.

He turns back to his coffee, draining the last of the gritty dregs at the bottom of the cup and taking a deep sigh, letting the saucer and up rest in this lap. The early morning quite is kind of nice. Harry’s opened up a local paper, sheets rustling quietly as he skims the headlines; his glasses are back on his nose, and somehow that makes it all the more normal. Like last night was a fever dream, a fluke that they won’t talk about and will fade into memory, an echo of what Eggsy could have had. A taste of the unattainable, courtesty of Kingsman mission requirements and the paranoia of one of Northern Italy’s most infamous crime families.

“Got something for you,” Harry says, just as the silence seems to stretch a little too long.

“Besides the coffee?” Eggsy asks, smiling when he meets Harry’s eyes.

“The coffee was hardly a gift,” Harry rolls his eyes, “It was for my benefit as much as yours; there’s no trying to communicate with you before you’ve had your morning dose of caffeine.”

Eggsy shakes his head, gently elbowing Harry in the side. “You know me so well.”

“Don’t I just. But this-” he reaches out with a closed fist, and when he opens it something clatters sharply in Eggsy’s empty cofffee cup, “-will certainly be of more interest to you.”

Eggsy tilts the cup towards him and peers inside, squinting at the tiny object Harry had deposited there. It’s no bigger than his thumbnail, a little black plastic casing with a indented port with metal pins on one side, and a tiny, blue-black-purple lense winking up at him from the other.

“Ah,” Eggsy inhales sharply. “The bug?”

“The bug,” Harry confirms, folding his paper and setting it to the side. “When I fetched my glasses this morning there was a message from Merlin; he was able to track the data feed and disable the connection - in a way that looked like a natural loss of connectivity, of course - so I could go and fetch the bug itself for him.”

“Merlin and his toys, eh?” Eggsy snorts, “Still can’t believe you saw it. Hope Merlin doesn’t mind that it’s a bit damp and smells like a fine latte.”

“He’ll wrinkle his nose and deal with it,” Harry says mildly, shrugging one shoulder. “I wanted you to see it before I did this.”

Eggsy looks up, meeting Harry’s gaze, and suddenly there seems to be a lot less room between them than there used to be, even though they’re still just sitting side-by-side against the bed’s giant cherry headboard.

Eggsy swallows. “Did wh-“

He doesn’t even get halfway through his question because Harry’s lips find his, cutting off anything else he’d possibly have to say. It’s not like the desperate, biting kisses they’d shared on this bed last night, with enough teeth and tongue to keep everything hot and slick. This is something tender, an exploratory press of lips, soft and unhurried. Harry’s hand comes up to cup the side of his face, and when Harry finally pulls away with one lingering kiss, Eggsy presses into the touch.

It may not have been outright sexually charged, but the kiss leaves Eggsy breathless nonetheless.

“That was-“ Eggsy licks his lips, making a soft noise in his throat when Harry rubs their noses together, peppers kisses along the line of Eggsy’s jaw. “Just so I’m not, uh, misinterpreting things-“

“That was for us,” Harry murmurs into Eggsy’s skin, leaves a nipping kiss high on Eggsy’s throat before sitting back to meet his eyes. “Not for any camera, or an audience. And I’d very much like to continue such activities, just for us.”

“Just for us,” Eggsy repeats, a smile worming its way onto his face, unable to stop the ember of hope in his chest from growing into an uncontrollable blaze. “Yeah, I’d – I’d like that.”

“Thought you might,” Harry brushes his thumb over Eggsy’s lower lip, and Eggsy feels his face heat at the memory of the same touch the night before. “I wanted to be sure it wasn’t just for the camera before I asked, though you’re not quite that good of an actor-”

“Oi!”

“-you _are_ entitled to being smug about your mouth,” Harry finishes, tilting his eyebrows suggestively in his direction, and Eggsy nips at the tip of his finger.

“ _Not an actor_ , my arse,” Eggsy grumbles; he can’t stop grinning, so the effect is probably ruined. “I’ll just have to show you what I can do when it’s just the two of us without an eye in the sky, eh?”

“Well, certainly, for comparison’s sake,” Harry smiles, pressing a too-brief kiss to Eggsy’s lips again, “and we can watch the footage from last night, after.”

Eggsy’s eyebrows climb towards his hairline, and he blinks rapidly in surprise. “The footage from last night?”

“Merlin was gracious enough to forward me a copy of the film, though I’m sure now we won’t hear the end of it,” Harry smirks, “It’s on my laptop – unless you’d rather watch it now?”

The thought of watching the footage together – the thought of _them_ , _together_ – makes Eggsy’s mind short-circuit, and it takes a moment to shake himself out of the _inspiring_ images his mind creates. His heart’s already picking up its pace at the idea of what’s to come when he makes up his mind, pushing the covers further away so that he can climb up and straddle Harry’s lap. He’s still naked, and undeniably starting to harden against the fine silk of Harry’s robe, and he flushes at the intentionally obvious, lascivious way Harry drags his eyes up and down his naked form.

Eggsy wriggles his arse to settle more comfortably on Harry’s hips, looping his arms jauntily around Harry’s neck and tangling his fingers into the curling hair at the nape of his neck.

“Let’s watch it later,” he says with a wide smile that matches Harry’s own, already learning in. “I think I prefer the view from right here.”


End file.
